


transmogrification.

by Sam (iStuhler)



Category: Graceland (TV), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-07
Updated: 2016-09-07
Packaged: 2018-08-13 12:53:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7977436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iStuhler/pseuds/Sam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Mike Warren opens his eyes, it’s three in the morning on a Saturday and he’s laying flat on his stomach on his bedroom floor.</p><p>He’s not sure how he got here; he’d just been asleep, trapped in a dream that he can’t quite remember. He does feel the pain of it though, an ache in the tightness of his chest that he's not sure of the origin of. He feels like he should be covered in blood, but when he pushes himself up onto bare knees and stares down at his chest, in the dim light of the moon shining in through his windows, he sees just the whiteness of his undershirt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	transmogrification.

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [metempsychosis](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1863837) by [iStuhler](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iStuhler/pseuds/iStuhler). 



When Mike Warren opens his eyes, it’s three in the morning on a Saturday and he’s laying flat on his stomach on his bedroom floor.

He’s not sure how he got here; he’d just been asleep, trapped in a dream that he can’t quite remember. He does feel the pain of it though, an ache in the tightness of his chest that he's not sure of the origin of. He feels like he should be covered in blood, but when he pushes himself up onto bare knees and stares down at his chest, in the dim light of the moon shining in through his windows, he sees just the whiteness of his undershirt.

He gets up off of the floor and crawls back into bed, straightening out the tangled sheets. It must have been a nightmare, he decides, feeling the cooling sweat soaked into his sheets.

It feels like the second his eyes shut again, he falls right back into the dream, and when his eyelids flutter open at nine, he doesn't remember anything again. Mike shakes his head as he sits up, toes curling against the cool floor. He almost _swears_ that he can taste a bitter mix of gunpowder and blood in his mouth, and when he goes to brush his teeth before going downstairs, he discovers that there _is_ , in fact, blood in his mouth. He must have bitten the inside of his cheek.

It's fine though; he chalks it up to a bad night inspired by a crazy day of work that had ended in a firefight and a trip to the hospital for Johnny to get stitches in his shoulder. Of _course_ he'd have crazy dreams. Of course.

Except it happens again two nights later, and this time Mike _remembers_.

He fades into the dream as if it's just a sequence in a movie. He's standing in a tavern, by an open window. He can hear the sound of people shouting down below, he can smell death in the air. He looks down; he’s got a red tattered flag clutched in his hand. When he raises his head, he meets the gaze of ten men, all of their guns pointed directly at him. 

His heart _stops_ in his chest, and then stutter-steps back into life. He can feel it pounding in his throat, every muscle tensed and ready to fight-or-flight. He knows that he’s an FBI Agent in the twenty-first century, but right now he’s not. Right now, he’s... somewhere else.

A man pushes through the firing squad, a man with curly dark hair. There’s a bottle of wine clutched in his grasp, but the man drops the bottle. Mike doesn’t hear the sound of it shatter; his eyes are on the man's as he stumbles towards Mike with definitive purpose in his eyes. Mike wishes he knew the man’s name… and then suddenly he _does_. The French name slips into his mind as easily as water through a faucet, and his lips part, forming the word: _Grantaire_.

“I am one of them.” Grantaire says it in French, and Mike _understands_ it. He can only stare as Grantaire stops next to him, and something in Mike, he’s not sure what,makes him reach out to press their hands together tightly. Grantaire smiles, and Mike is about to smile back when he hears the rapport of the guns. 

Then he feels _pain_. Without looking down he knows that bloody roses are blooming across his chest. He sees Grantaire’s body jerk as he falls, scarlet blossoming on his shirt. Mike takes one step backwards, two steps, and then his knees catch the edge of the window and he falls down, down… 

This time, he wakes with a _scream_.

**Author's Note:**

> this was inspired by a [post](http://laurelhealy.tumblr.com/post/149680074781/no-but-someone-give-me-a-graceland-au-where-mike) i'd made on tumblr, and is a loose rewrite of my fic _metempsychosis_.


End file.
